Countermeasures
By Lisa Zaza
Forty-five years to the day that her father, Commander Mark Dayton, of the U.S. Space Shuttle Endeavour, had disappeared in an explosion that had destroyed the International Space Station and had launched the beginning of the end for NASA, Jess Dayton stood in the Mission Control Centre of the Worldwide Aeronautics and Space Agency, waiting for the Unity to come home.
She could feel that irritating little tick in her eyelid again, as she glanced up at the digital readout on the wall. Although anyone else would be oblivious to it, she was acutely aware of the nervous affectation. She pressed on the pulse point, willing it to go away, as her heart pounded against her chest, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
One of the three new Guardian Vehicle Designations, which had recently replaced the Orions, the Unitywas one of two shuttles that WASA had launched almost three months earlier to coordinate a research and retrieval mission for the mysterious ship that had crashed on the Moon, its origin technically unknown, although, their initial suspicions had certainly been confirmed. It was unquestionably Cylon. Everything that had been predicted by the Guardians—representatives for a race of incredibly advanced extraterrestrial Beings, watching over the universe, and ensuring that humanity would survive—had been confirmed. The alien threat was real. It chilled her heart, at the same time as it affirmed everything she'd been working towards for the last twenty years. Validation for a group of WASA scientists and astronauts had come in the form of a deadly threat. Talk about mixed emotions . . .
Jess frowned, rubbing the back of her neck ritualistically, as she considered that since she had taken over as Director of WASA, after Glen Moore had tragically died the year before—an "accident" which she still had her suspicions about—that too much of her time had been spent this way. Waiting. Oh, she would have traded her younger sister to have been up there at the Armstrong Lunar Outpost all this time, instead of dealing with the various government and military officials that had constantly harassed her, threatening her with everything from funding interdiction to supply interruptions, as she oversaw the project from WASA's Guiana Space Centre. Once her people were back safely on Earth, she could start concentrating on the other mind-boggler she had recently been faced with.
As it happened, at the same time as WASA had tracked the Cylon ship to the moon, their stealth recon satellites had picked up a massive burst of radio energy out near the orbit of Sedna, and a sudden uptick in chatter between the various intelligence agencies. Due to a massive deluge of signals directed towards their satellites, the radar traces weren't good enough to be a hundred percent certain, but whatever they had brought back had been about the right size and mass to be a shuttle. Every piece of data they had put together since then led WASA to believe that an Orbiter shuttle had "limped" into Edwards Air Force Base with an F-22 escort on that day. Her pulse quickened at the very thought. Could it really be . . .?
Of course, the government had denied it, covering it up, or burying it as the case may be. Any coverage of the event that hit the internet that day, had disappeared by the next, as if it had never existed to begin with. Mainstream media hadn't touched it, which set off a few warning bells. Still, Jess damn well knew that only oneOrbiter shuttle had ever been unaccounted for . . . the Endeavour.
It had been about the most bizarre, unexpected, and enigmatic event that had occurred in her career. The Guardians sure hadn't prepared her for this. After all, the Endeavourhad been blown up, while manoeuvring for a docking with the old ISS, back in 2010, her father in command. The resulting explosion, had obliterated the entire station, as well as the shuttle. There had been no survivors, and not even a trace of the Endeavour had been found in the ensuing debris, or so they had been told, and so the history books had recorded. As a child, she barely remembered the world event, but the loss of her father, and the mystery surrounding it, had been her constant companion throughout her formative years. Knowing Mark Dayton, and the kind of man he was, she had lived, breathed, and ached for answers that she could accept, and her yearning had shaped her into the woman she was today.
Dare she hope? Finally, some answers? It was discoveries like this that had first inspired her to follow in her famous, or ratherinfamous father's footsteps . . . that and the determination that one day she would clear his name, and that of his crew. Now, she was convinced, more than ever, that she'd made the right choice.
"Okay people, I'm going to get your 'go', 'no go'. Unity's thirty minutes out . . ." She half listened as Flight Director Hayashi went through his checks.
Once again, Jess checked the telemetry, searching for any sign of fighters in the area. It had been an ongoing battle of late, and one that at times made her wish she hadn't stepped up to the plate when no one else seemed willing to do so after Moore's death, and probable murder. Despite the fact that most world powers had cut funding to their space programs over forty years ago, claiming that the Islamic World Front—a violent terrorist faction later proven to be associated with al Queda, according to the American National Security Agency, the Israeli Mossad, and the British MI6—had infiltrated both NASA and Roskosmos, the Russian Federal Space Agency, both the US and British governments seemed to believe, rather presumptuously, in her opinion, that WASA should suddenly now be subject to their orders and military dominance.
Fat bloody chance.
No, there was far too much water under the bridge for that now, most of it muddied, or stained red, and WASA had struggled too hard to get where they were, subject to ridicule, threats and even violence over the four decades that had passed. At times it hadn't seemed worth the sacrifices and exhaustive effort they had all put into it, but when they had found out from the Guardians that the rising and prevalent distrust in leadership embodied in the form of endless conspiracy theories—covering everything from 9/11 to child vaccinations—that seemed to be permeating their beloved planet, Earth, was being orchestrated by a supernatural being named "Iblis" which Earth culture could only equate with the Devil, well, it sure as hell changed a gal's perspective.
"Ma'am, we just picked up two F-35's on an intercept coarse with the Unity," Lee told her. "ETA, eight minutes . . .mark."
"Lightnings! Damn! I knew they'd pull something like this." Jess banged a fist on the control panel. "Get me Leach! Marshal of the Royal Air Force," she added the title as an afterthought, before turning to Hayashi. "Has Grae spotted them yet from the Unity?"
"Affirmative," Hayashi replied. "Go ahead, Unity Commander."
"I've got them, Dayton," said Grae, his image filling one of the huge screens in Mission Control. As usual, Grae looked like he hadn't a care in the world. Or off of it, for that matter. "Nice to give the new sensor suite a work out, by the way. Just like a fighter's. It makes it hard to miss them dogging our tail way out here in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."
"You always were observant, Grae," she told him wryly. "Stand by. Things might get exciting."
"I'm counting on it. It was getting pretty boring up there at the Lunar Outpost." He leaned back in his pilot seat, one arm behind his head, as if he were lounging on a beach. "You know, nothing to do but chat with Cylons and examine their ship. Play some cards."
"Stop rubbing it in," she told him.
"All work and no play, Jess . . ."
"Yeah, yeah," she returned, tuning him out for the moment. "Batalova, get me Sergei Orlov in Kazakhstan. I need to buy some time for the Unity."
"They're too far away. Even if we redirect them . . ." Hayashi began.
"I know!" Dayton snapped. "So is Alipao, and the Borneo Tracking Station. But we have to try something! I'm not letting those bastards just take her!"
"Director Dayton," Lee inserted. "Just picked up some old F-22's, coming in across Costa Rica, flat out . . . definitely American."
"Where's Orlov?" she hissed to Batalova, who redoubled her efforts.
"Marshal of the Royal Air Force for you, Director Dayton," Lee inserted.
"Put him on," she ordered. One of the huge plasma screens on the wall snowed, then came to life with the image of a balding, clean-shaven man, in a British military uniform. "Leach, you Smeg-Head, call off your fighters! We have an agreement!" Dayton spat through gritted teeth.
"Had an agreement, Dayton," he actually sounded amused. "You see, Chief of Staff Roach and I discussed the situation again, and decided that considering the Unity is escorting back our first verifiable contact with alien life in the galaxy, that a military escort is in order." His refined British accent grated on her nerves, and the fact that he was colluding with the senior officer of the American Air Force behind her back made her want to pull her hair out.
Or maybe his.
"Leach, if you don't have your fighters turn back now, I will consider this an offensive taken against WASA, and will react accordingly."
"Director Dayton, we all know that WASA's mandate includes 'cooperation and partnership in the exploration and use of outer space for peaceful purposes'," he drawled the words, as though humouring her.
"And sending fighters after our shuttle is peaceful? What the hell dictionary are you using? Oxford,the pocket edition?"
"I am in control of this situation, Director Dayton," replied Leach, his voice losing its smooth, avuncular tone of a moment before. "You will take no action against us, and you will comply!"
Jess felt like she were back in the first grade, her teacher reading her the riot act. "Care to put that to the test, Leach?" she countered, wishing for the first time that they had actually gone ahead with the initial weapons system designed for the Guardian series. While not as manoeuvrable as either an F-35 or F-22, at least Grae and the crew wouldn't be sitting ducks if they were armed.
"Are you threatening me?" asked Leach, voice a mix of surprise and contempt.
"Nothing gets by you, Leach," she replied, caustically. "Your choice." She turned to Lee, and drew a thumb across her throat. The infuriating image of Leach vanished from the plasma.
"I have Orlov standing by," Batalova reported.
Jess nodded. "Sergei. Jess Dayton. I need your help."
"Underwater rocks, my friend. We are tracking Unity and her pack of wolves. How can I help, Dayton?" The soft undercurrent of his Russian accent was somehow reassuring in the moment. "The new ASAT? It could work to our advantage in more than one way."
"Exactly, Sergei!" she grinned. While official reports had stated that back in 1983 Russia had ended its Istrebitel Sputnikov, or literally, "Destroyer of Satellites" program, WASA's Kazakhstan space centre had recently launched a newer generation of a somewhat subtler anti-satellite weaponry for just such an occasion. After all, WASA had known that one day they would have to protect their investment, not to mention defend against possible commandeering or destruction. A good blast from the advanced electromagnetic pulse beam system that covered the Earth could knock out the F-35's radar, not to mention pretty much everything else, giving Unity a little more time. Until the British fighters could get a visual on the Space Shuttle, and lock missiles, Grae and the rest of the Unity crew still had a chance. "Okay, Sergei. Blind those bastards!"
"To do so will make me smile from the bottom of my soul. Sixty seconds. Mark," Sergei confirmed. "Warn Unity, Dayton. Tell our Snowbird, we're on track."
"I will, Sergei. Thanks." She switched channels once again, nodding at Flight Director Hayashi. "Grae, we're going to use the ASAT to buy you guys some time. Make the most of it. You'll have about a minute to work some magic while their systems are down. Mark . . . fifty-two seconds."
"Here on theUnity, we aim to please, Director," he replied casually. "By the way, you still owe me dinner."
She let out a ragged breath, shaking her head, and trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions. It wouldn't do for the Director of WASA to break down in Mission Control. Inevitably, she was going to lose them. Time wouldn't save the Unity from Leach and Roach . . . the two most aptly named military men on Earth. Right now all the British and American satellites would be tracking WASA's shuttle across the Atlantic, planning to reroute her, probably to the Kennedy Air Force Base, the former Kennedy Space Centre. The irony didn't escape her. The bitterness inside her welled up, until she felt as though she was going to explode. "Damn, Grae . . ."
"Easy, darlin'," he replied, soothingly. "We all knew this would happen. We're going out fighting. We still have a little surprise in reserve for them." He chuckled. "I can hardly wait to see the look on Roach's face . . . It's why I volunteered for this mission. That, and an eternal optimism that I might get a peek at that old Orbiter we tracked on satellite three months ago . . ."
"You and I both," Taylor said from beside him.
Jess sucked in a deep breath, not trusting her voice just now, as she watched it all unfold. The British fighters were getting closer—about four minutes out—when Sergei let them have it with the ASAT. That was when the WASA tracking system went down, every screen awash in electronic snow, which meant the American and British systems were also down. She'd have given a lot just now to see the look on Leach's face, as all their electronics went into the toilet. It was a triumph and a source of frustration at the same time. About now, Grae would be changing coarse, flying by the seat of his pants just like he had in his old Canadian Forces days as an elite member of the Snowbirds, while he pushed the Unity to the limit.
"Coming back online," Flight Director Hayashi announced, as one by one the systems returned to nominal.
Unityhad gained ground, and it was obvious that the F-35's were still waiting on intel as they continued to move further away from the Space Shuttle. The F-22's corrected coarse marginally faster than their British counterparts, moving to intercept.
"Six minutes to intercept."
"Go, Unity!" someone cheered.
It was tortuous just watching. Jess gritted her teeth, counting down the seconds until Grae would use the newly developed Electronic Countermeasures against the fighters. Although a self-admitted realist and cynic, she could hardly believe it had come to this. When it came to maintaining control and domination, the superpowers of the world had their heads so far up their asses that they couldn't see the Cylon discovery for what it truly was. Not just a curiosity, not just "an alien craft", it was evidence of an impending threat against Earth. She couldn't let them get their hands on that Cylon technology, and the proof that could finally sway world opinion to WASA's side. She couldn't let them cover it up again, like they had done at Roswell. It was the only way to get them all working together to save their planet.
"Two minutes."
She smirked, as Unity once again changed coarse, pushing her speed to the atmospheric limit, and this time the American F-22's were left scrambling in uncertainty as their detection systems were deceived by an ECM that these jokers had never seen the like of. Jess couldn't help but smile slightly, as she saw that one of the planes had gone down into the drink. Still, it was only a reprieve. Soon the Air Force fighters' systems would reboot, and the pilots would have a visual, and the "cat and mouse" game would be over.
However, "cat and mouse" wasn't the only game that WASA's director was proficient in.
"Unity to Mission Control. This is our swan song, Jess," Grae reported, his voice still calm. "They're going to be all over us in thirty seconds."
"We'll get you back, Grae," she vowed. "One way or the other, I'm bringing you all home. I promise."
"We're holding you to that . . ." he remarked, then chuckled again. He had a remarkable capacity to see the bright side of things. "Hey, at least we know they won't shoot us down."
"Yeah," she murmured. Right now the crew was a valuable commodity, but later . . .
The next thirty minutes were hard to bear, as she listened to the Americans ordering the Unity to alter coarse, taking them towards the Kennedy Air Force Base, as expected. It was a distasteful, if necessary means to an end, and she knew that Grae saw it in the same light. Hayashi squeezed her shoulder in support, and she swallowed down the massive lump that was rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. The tension and strain in the control room were palpable, everyone was sweating, despite the AC, as they realized that the Unity had finally landed in Florida. The Unity's crew of four would shortly be taken into American custody for interrogation. It wouldn't be long now until Chief of Staff Roach discovered the 'shell game'. She glanced over at Hayashi. It was time.
"Progress report?"
Hayashi nodded. "Baikonur Space Centre standing by."
"Go ahead, Sergei," Jess said, the butterflies in her stomach beginning to perform aerobatics that threatened the endless supply of coffee she had consumed. Had it worked? Was Unity's sacrifice worth it?
"The Quest has landed safely, Dayton. As far as we can tell, Roach and Leach were so occupied with the Unity, that they never detected our other ship. The new ECM is worth every ruble, " Orlov replied. "We have the package secured."
"YES!" shouted Dayton, both fists shooting into the air, as the Control Centre exploded into cheers. "Sergei, if you weren't so far away, I'd kiss you."
"I'll take what you Americans call a 'rain check'. In the meantime, you can just send that case of Vodka you owe me from last Christmas."
"Done."